“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” The flabbergasted author wiped shampoo from her eyes just in time to see a man in black reach across her and grab the soap out of the dish before she could take it.
“I simply wanted a word with you before you used that,” the Potions master said with a small wintry smile as he stepped into the shower stall, deftly avoiding the spray of water.
Astonished to have uninvited company in what was usually a rather personal activity, the woman simply stared as the water continued to gush forth with exuberance. “You wanted a word?” she managed to choke out.
“Yes, I had an idea, and I thought we could discuss it.” The low voice purred.
“An idea?” she echoed blankly.
“Yes, for a story. I know you were thinking about one where I get involved with that Auror woman who can make herself look like anyone…” A grimace crossed the man’s face.
“Tonks…” the author murmured.
Snape nodded. “Yes, that’s the one, but it won’t work.”
Her mouth dropped open. “It won’t?”
“No, not at all. She’s simply not my type. So clumsy…so…obvious. Not to mention that I work with so much glassware, such an alliance would be suicide. She’d cut me to ribbons before we could even get our clothes off. Besides…she’s much more Lupin’s type. He’s used to pain.”
“What do you mean by that, Snape?” came another voice as the werewolf opened the shower stall door, letting in a blast of cold air and forcing himself into the small space, redirecting the water with his wand so it now sprayed towards the other man.
The beleaguered author shifted over into the corner and belatedly held her small washcloth up in front of herself. “Do you mind?” she exclaimed in aggravation. “I was trying to take a shower in here.”
Lupin nodded politely. “I am sorry for intruding, but you do seem to have some of your best ideas when you’re in here, so if we wanted to put a word in, this really was the best place to do it.”
“I was here first!” Snape snapped as he shoved the water jet away from himself. “You could at least wait your turn.”
Lupin frowned at the now soggy Slytherin. “Oh, sure. If I hadn’t shown up, I’d have been the one getting shredded by glassware.”
“Well, better you than me!”
“Hold it!” exclaimed the author. “No one’s getting shredded by anything.”
Both men turned and looked at her. “No?”
“No. Absolutely not. No shredding. It was only an idea, anyway. Just because I think about it doesn’t mean I’ll follow through with it. I think of lots of stuff I never get around to writing.”
“Well, we’d just like a bit more input into what you do get around to writing. You know that story where I killed Snape and lived a meager life of desperation while sleeping in cardboard boxes? I really could have done without that one.” Lupin nodded intently.
“What do you know, something on which we can agree,” Snape muttered.
“I’m sorry, I know that not all of my ideas have been fun for you guys, but…”
Just then, the shower door opened once more and Minerva McGonagall stepped inside, forcing Snape and Lupin deeper into the shower and pressing the author up against the tile wall.
“Now what?” asked the author, as she peered around the two men only to get an eye full of water from the spray that the elegantly dressed witch had redirected away from herself.
Minerva focused a shrewd eye on the sputtering author and said, “Are these two bothering you? Because you’re in the middle of my story at the moment, and I’d hate to think that they’ve been plying you with ideas that would take you away from that before you’ve finished it. You really have left me in an awkward spot, you know.” She spared a stern glance for the two men who were trying to look innocent.
“Nonsense, Minerva,” said Snape. “I’m more than happy for her to finish working on your story. After all,” he smiled suggestively, “I understand there’s sex in the final chapter.”
Lupin elbowed the Potions master sharply in the ribs and tried to move away from the spray of water that was currently hitting him in one ear. “Well, that’s just dandy for the two of you, but I’m not even in that story. I’m getting tired of waiting for a fresh idea to dawn so that’s why I came in here.” He turned awkwardly around trying to look at the author, and managed to flip a sopping wet sleeve up into Minerva’s face as he did so.
“Remus! Watch what you’re doing,” she exclaimed testily as she staggered slightly on the wet and slippery tiles and put a sharp heel down in the middle of Snape’s left foot. The Potions master jumped and banged his head against the hanging soap dish in the process.
“Watch it, Minerva! It’s a bit close in here.”
“Well, you could always leave,” the tall witch exclaimed as she wiped dripping water from her face.
Suddenly, the door opened once more and an eager, fresh face surrounded by a halo of bushy brown hair peeked in. “Hi! I heard there’s a story conference going on in here. May I join you?”
“No!” four curt voices stated firmly.
A hurt expression crossed Hermione’s face. “Well, you don’t have to be mean about it. I’ll just try another shower then. Usually, it’s not such a problem.” The pert witch closed the door in a huff.
“Now, as I was saying,” three voices chorused in harmony.
“Out!” gasped the author.
The three uninvited characters gaped at her.
“What do you mean, out?” asked Snape. “We have things to discuss.”
“Yes, I need an ending!” stated Minerva.
“And I just need a storyline,” begged Remus. “It could be a short story. I’m not picky…even a vignette…a drabble?”
The author shook her wet head and began to shove everyone out the door. “Out, out, out! Leave me in peace. All I wanted was a shower…a little soap…a little shampoo…and a little privacy!”
The stall door sprang open and the very wet witch and wizards piled out into the bathroom beyond.
“Well, really. This is quite rude of you!” exclaimed Minerva primly as she dripped on the carpet and shot a dark glare back at the author.
“I’m sorry,” answered the author as she shut the door on her inspirations. “I’ll have to get back to you. I really can’t think when I’m being crowded. Too many ideas are just as bad as none at all, you know. I’ll get back to you later, I promise.”
“Right,” the werewolf’s doubtful voice called back. “I’ve been hearing that one for months.”
The author sighed. Why did the characters insist on talking to her when she was dripping wet and naked and couldn’t possibly write anything down anyway? Couldn’t they wait until later when she was dressed and sitting at the computer ready to write? Did they fall all over themselves wanting to chat then? Nooooo, of course they didn’t.
With a shake of her head, she turned back into the shower to find a tall, impressively built man with shimmering pale blond hair smiling a suggestive smile at her as he held out a bar of soap.
“Shall I do your back? I thought they’d never leave, didn’t you?”